


Step by Step on how to ruin a relationship

by rabble_dabble_writes



Series: Step by Step [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Break Up, Cheating, Daddy Issues, Established Relationship, Heavy Themes, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Sburb (Homestuck), Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Suggestive Themes, Therapy, because no one else seems to think that maybe he needs it, dave gets fuckin therapy, hehe, i mean its like two sentences that really say it but if i gotta change the warnings i will, its not exactly focused on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26733277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabble_dabble_writes/pseuds/rabble_dabble_writes
Summary: "..I love you."I hurt you and you don't even know it."Love you too."The words feel hollow falling out. He manages to sleep, seemingly sounder of mind, but you, you're wide awake. Your decisions hang over your head, gaping, hungry for the truth. They beckon and cry to be said, itching out of your mouth and screamed from your throat. But he's already asleep, and it already feels too late.Your actions weigh on you as Karkat sleeps peacefully, loving you, as if you're not the worst person in the world.And you stay wide awake, past sunrise, stirring in your own filthy demise.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Series: Step by Step [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945609
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Step by Step on how to ruin a relationship

Everyone tends to believe that a first relationship is built on love. That a first time can mend, can be a beginning, can lead to forever. That it is somehow significant in a way that should be cherished, specialized, even long after when it's over. Not every first try succeeds, but not every first try dies either. Really, honestly, you used to believe it was such bullshit.

And then you met Karkat.

It wasn't absolute on the first day. Liking Karkat was a hard, long process, taking a few years of forced friendship on a meteor because the two of you were the only two.."normal" left. At least, that's how it felt. You were only ever around him, or Rose, because you felt as if they were the only two who could see you, just a little bit, as something real. Unprocessed. Not the hero, but a person. And you liked that. 

Liking Karkat was like a stumble. Lingering thoughts, lingering realizations, pretending they weren't there and that maybe whenever he'd give you that pure, glassy-eyed longing look, that it didn't mean anything much. Just a look shared between people who cared. Someone who could understand something about you and not question it. Not wondering why you feel so uncomfortable with constant contact, why you don't like someone to creep up on you silently, why you never let yourself unwind even when alone, because it's possible, maybe, even though illogically so, that _he_ could be there...

And he understands. You don't know how. You get winded and a little over-emotional talking to him sometimes, and it's like he picks up whatever words you don't want to speak. Interprets what you don't want to say. Which isn't much, you think, but it means just the same that he understands so clearly.

You thought so, at least.

It's not really him to blame, after the two of you quit dancing around each other and finally, _finally_ , on a day in a Post-Sburb Earth C at home, you share a kiss. It's not as electric as you thought it'd feel, but it's still warm, still comforting, still so _nice_ as you pull away and Karkat's smiling at you like the fucking sun. You give him a small smile, trying to show him you're happy on the outside as much as the inside, and you think he gets it. You _think_ so. Being in love isn't so hard. Being in a relationship with a troll, the Karkat troll, isn't difficult. It feels like a piece that has been always with you fits better now. Clearly. Like there's a relief in kissing him or hugging him or sharing a house with him. You have nothing else in your life going on for you, and really there's nothing else you really like, so Karkat fits all the pieces together. You don't want to question any of it. You really don't.

It's those lingering thoughts, though. Those pesky, _what if he is just faking it_ , or _what if he doesn't actually love me_ , or, _what if he gets sick of me_ that gets to you. There's a day that you, in the way you do, tell him this. Explain to him you feel afraid. And like he always does, he understands. He gets it. The two of you talk about it until you can't stand it anymore, and move on. He tells you that your brain is lying to yourself, and there'd be no way he couldn't ever love you. Tries to kiss you and hug you to prove it. 

But it still gets to you. 

You thought a simple talk could work it out, like it usually does. But this comes back. It comes back slowly, in little forms, that you are barely aware it's creeping up on you. It calls in the back of your mind, laying down next to Karkat, eating dinner with Karkat, walking to get this week's groceries with Karkat. 

_You don't deserve this_. 

But it couldn't possibly be you. _You_ don't believe that. That's just the remnants of your childhood and guardian telling you that. You even know from Dirk that there is the possibility he could've been a better person. He just chose not to. That wasn't your fault.

_You don't deserve this._

You don't want to believe it. You have a much better life now. You have Karkat. You have friends and family in arm's length, at the tip of a phone call. It wasn't your fault.

_You don't deserve this._

It wasn't your fault.

_You don't deserve this, Dave._

Right?

Days glide by when you don't want to see the world. When you try to hide from it. Karkat tries his best to remain at your side, finds a natural way to it from his own childhood remaining inside, but he must've gotten attached to all of you. Sometimes, he almost begs you to come with him. To go see some friends. _Your_ friends.

You don't know why, but the thought of seeing any of them is starting to make you feel sick. Maybe the fact that they can hold themselves together better gets to you. Maybe because they don't question why life is good now. That they can accept it, as a part of life, and never think otherwise. 

He doesn't go.

And it makes you feel horrible. Exactly the opposite of what he wants from you. He stays because that's what _you_ want. You feel as if you take his choice away from him. That it's your fault he doesn't go to see the friends he wants to see.

_It is._

You don't tell him this. You don't tell him anything, except you don't feel very well, and he appoints himself to your side the entire time. And you feel guilty for it. He wants to take care of you, help you, but you don't want that. You want him to feel happy where he wants to be, not stuck with you. But you can't tell him why, or he'd question you, ask you about it, and even though you know he understands a lot about you, there's an immense _fear_ of him knowing about the fact that maybe you feel like you don't deserve any of this would make him feel bad. Or scared. Or as if he failed you. 

And it'd be your fault for doing so. 

You don't feel like yourself as the weeks pass by. When you wake up in the morning, looking miserable, and he asks in the caring tone you start to despise, "Are you okay?" That you only answer with a nod. Because if you speak, he'll notice something wrong. And he can't do that. You can't let him see.

You can't let him see just how much you hate yourself.

How much you think this could turn awry.

_How much you don't deserve this_.

Because, really, do you?

It's a struggle you suffocate in. Some days you manage fine, others you manage okay. All of them have the pinpoint thoughts in the back of your head you never regard. Never acknowledge. They aren't there, because if they are, that means there's something wrong. And there is.

The fact that you feel any of this in the first place. 

You don't hate Karkat. You never do. But there are just days you wish he..isn't around. That he leaves you alone. That he goes away for a while and comes back when you need him. You recognize this as selfish, but nothing more, and never ask him to. You try your hardest not to let it show. Because you want him here, and he wants to be with you, and that'd be bad to take it away from it just because you feel like it. 

It's so hard, though, to not run away and make yourself into something small, alone, while you can.

And then, one day, it's _done_.

The two of you are arguing, and you hate this, and you know you're wrong, but you can't bring yourself to admit it. You grab the keys, because although you hate to go outside, you'd rather be outside and alone then _here_ knowing you're wrong and knowing you've been hard to deal with, a burdensome asshole, and the two of you usually head separate ways when you argue anyway. You're taking off before you know it, unaware of even the last word said to you, into the city at night, hoping you can blow some steam off. 

And, for the first time in a while, you feel just a little bit relieved. Horrible, but relieved. 

You didn't think of where you're going, but you stop at some random part of the inner-city, slam the door hard, and start walking. You're aiming for a thrift store, maybe an actual store with snacks, but you end up at a bar. You've never been in a bar before. You don’t go to public, crowded places like this. But you get the gist of it, and before you know it, you're inside.

Inside is loud. And shrieking, shrilling happiness. Or, people who are happy to be drunk. It smells of strong beer and cigarettes and greasy food. The musk of people waft too, making you almost choke, but it's enough. It makes you feel out of place to be here, but being here feels better than being at home. It drowns out what you might think, leaves you feeling hidden and breathless. You doubt if Karkat came looking for you, you’d be found here. 

You've got nowhere else to go, really.

No one cares about you or even places a thought your way, and the bartender only smiles after you show him your I.D. and shiny credit card asking him for his strongest get-me-fucked-up, probably knowing you can't handle it. Really, all you're thinking is that if the Lalonde's could’ve handled it, you can too. An addiction would be a good enough distraction right now.

So you drink. It burns, and it sucks, and tastes like shit compared to the french fries, but it burns down to distract you from your problems and your boyfriend. A first for everything. Love, drinking, driving drunk. You stay until the bartender insists you call someone to take you home. You leave without saying anything.

You don't process a thing between getting in the car and opening the door. And on the other side, Karkat sits worriedly on the couch.

"Where the fuck were you?" He asks, but you're barely registering it. You stumble without answering.

"Dave, where the fuck did you go!?"

You say something, you think, but not something you think about. An automated response. You're not here right now, Karkat, answer at the beep. 

"I was worried all night about you, dipshit! You just left and didn't answer my texts-" you don't even have your phone. "-and I was _so worried_ -"

You hate that. You hate him, for being worried. There's nothing to worry about. Can't you just randomly go out and get blackout drunk? Why does Rose get all the mentality crisis and you get chewed out? This is complete bullshit. 

You don't let yourself think about it. He yells at you some more, and notices before you crash that you're drunk. 

And you hate the fact he takes you to bed, gets your coat and shoes off, makes you drink water. Hate that he sits next to you, whispering to you an apology you don't deserve, trying to kiss you. Every part of yourself is _screaming_ , wanting to yell at him to stop, trying to get him to understand that you _do not_ want any of this. You don't need care. You don’t want it. You're not a fragile thing. 

You're not a child.

"Don't scare me like that," he speaks softly to you, caressing you, every moment you hating it. "Don't do that, please. Don't just leave."

You don't even know your answer as you wake up in the morning, hungover, throwing the covers back to run into the bathroom and shamefully throwing up the mistakes of last night.

You're pale, in the mirror, and trembling. For a moment, you scare yourself into thinking that you look like B-

You..really need to cut your hair more often.

You do it the next time you get upset. The next time you get angry with him. Hate that he loves you. It doesn't feel like an addiction yet, because you don't yearn for it when you wake up in the morning, but it feels like an escape. Sometimes you don't even drink. You sit there and pretend you're all the other drunk, euphorically sad people there. The one who just had a baby. The one who lost his job. The one with a group of friends screaming giggly with her. The loner who needs a night out. You sit there and listen to why they're here, wondering how they managed to get here, how they act when they get home. Pretend for a bit that you’re a spectator to their world, to hear their stories and personalities and problems, and nothing more. Do they also return to a home they despise, feeling worthless, feeling as if all the love in the house is like a poison, or worse, an antidote? They swallow away their problems and feelings, but at home, is there someone willing to hear them?

You never talk. Never ask them. Never get to know anyone but the bartenders who happen to memorize your name and know what your credit card looks like. You only want to see from the outside, looking in, wishing you could be a part of this seamless whisky world. 

He appears to you on a random night drinking. You immediately forget his name, but not how he looks like, or how he talks like. You spend the next few nights thinking about it until you leave again, wanting to get away from Karkat's worry, his insistence of love, and it occurs to you that he is the first person to introduce himself to you in that bar. The first to maybe wonder why you’re in there in the first place. Alone. 

He does it again. Making a, "Hey! Remember me from last time?" as if you were already friends, repeating his name like a saint. 

His name is Quezer. He's a troll. 

Interesting, really.

He talks a bit, something you automatically drone in as a spectator for. It surprises you when he tries to get you to answer some of his questions, tries to engage, and you awkwardly talk back. He tells you your voice is beautiful. You say his sounds like a saw and cream had a baby. Different from Karkat's velvet and rumble. He tells you he thinks you look nice. You respond telling him it's your everyday wear and you look like absolute shit. He laughs, and it's a smooth, low gurgle. You smile, feeling it for the first time in a long while.

He gets you drunk enough to get talking, not enough to tell him about Karkat. He responds to your concerns about everything with a thin smile, letting his tongue snake out of his mouth to dart over his answers in an attempt to console you. Really, he just states that life, "is what it is," and you find yourself agreeing. 

And then he's kissing you. 

And then he's leading you down the sidewalk, down the road, blurry even as you read it the words _Motel_ in fluorescent light. Barely registering his hand on your arm, or how he helps your shirt off, or when he _finally_ bites you. Your anxiety is high but your mind is higher, drunk off of feelings and hormones and kissing your neck lustily, you've never done this before but oh god, oh god, don't stop, _there_ -

Somewhere, it registers you're making a mistake. Doing something you really shouldn't be doing. Thoughts of Karkat and Quezer and both of them are trolls and thinking that you hate being loved but _love what is happening right there_ , instead of thinking how you aren't doing this with Karkat, how he's at home being worried and caring and scared, wondering what you're doing and not at all suspecting that you're being fucked into a rusty mattress instead of being snuggly and cuddly at home. With him. You're sure there's a word for this, but you can't grasp it, and you're too lost to try. You can't even bring yourself to think about Karkat doing this to you. He wouldn't be harsh. He wouldn't be fast. He wouldn't bite unless asked. 

You like that Quezer doesn't ask.

There's no forthcoming note when you finish. It just ends, suddenly, and you're left gasping for something. Something that will make you feel whole. Quezer settles his arm around you, faintly, as if believing this was something real. Something certain.

Faintly, before you knock out, you register the word you tried summoning before: cheating.

You just cheated on Karkat.

* * *

You make it back home before he wakes up. Karkat, not Quezer. You escape his grasp before he even stirred, driving the backroads for a while to drive off your apparent hangover. You make it back home near the rise of dawn, the world awaking upon your mistake, and try your best to settle into the bed you share with him. Pretending that a few hours ago you weren’t in a bed with a stranger. Pretending that you weren’t out all night, committing a big mistake, doing anything suspicious at all. On top of the covers, cuddling him, because you feel a sense of dread at something in the back of your mind. And because, for the first time in a while, you want Karkat. As if he’ll fix everything you did. 

To your misfortune, your weight on the bed wakes him up. Not enough to process you were gone for longer than you should've been. Just grabs at you until his hand hits yours, and encloses. 

His hand feels like a fire, like holy water, burning your skin to the touch. Like his body knows exactly what yours did. 

"You left," he mumbles, sleepily. "Again."

_Like you always do._

"I.."

Your voice sounds wary, used. It shocks you.

He moves across the bed, shifting himself until he's against your side and can hold an arm over you. Shoving his face in your shoulder, to have you close.

"I don't like you going out by yourself."

_I'm afraid that you'll do something reckless and I won't be there_.

"I needed to get some steam off."

_I needed to be away from your love._

"Yeah, but..you don't answer my calls. It.."

_It makes me worried. Concerned. For you._

"I just drive around until I'm okay."

_And drink. And..._

"Dave, please don't leave like that again."

_Please stop making me worried at night, so much I can't sleep. Please stop being a burden._

"I'm fine, Karkat."

_I cheated on you._

"..okay."

_Say something else. Something more. Suspect something. Get upset. Angry. So I can let this secret out. Please. I need you to be mad._

"Will you stay?"

_I don't deserve you, Karkat._

"Yeah."

_I made a mistake._

"..I love you."

_I hurt you and you don't even know it._

"Love you too."

The words feel hollow falling out. He manages to sleep, seemingly sounder of mind, but you, you're wide awake. Your decisions hang over your head, gaping, hungry for the truth. They beckon and cry to be said, itching out of your mouth and screamed from your throat. But he's already asleep, and it already feels too late. 

Your actions weigh on you as Karkat sleeps peacefully, loving you, as if you're not the worst person in the world. 

And you stay wide awake, past sunrise, stirring in your own filthy demise.

* * *

It's a few days before you break, the urge of wanting to confess growing like a hard rock in the back of your head. You've been able to keep secrets in before, but things only encoded years into your brain and lifestyle. Things that are easy to keep hidden if you can ignore it. This..this isn't something you think you can hold onto. And for the sake of Karkat, you really don't want to.

You sit outside, telling Karkat you wanted to be alone on the balcony, and call Rose.

"Dave."

"Hey."

"What must I presume the pleasure for a talk is for? Or are you over your moody fit yet."

"My what?"

"Sorry. Karkat's been chatty with Kanaya recently. Near any time of the day. And times I attempt to 'get it on', so to speak, I'm interrupted by nearly moirail improv-sessions. Really breaks the mood."

You didn't know Karkat was calling Kanaya. To be fair, you haven't been home very often and even when you were you weren't paying attention. You guess he needs _someone_ to talk to about how he feels, since you don’t give him the chance to. 

Her words remind you directly why you called her.

"I wanted to ask you something," you state faintly.

"Yes?"

Your throat goes dry. "I..uh.." You’re usually not to the point with her. 

"Dave, I'm not going to judge you. If you want your own improv talk I'll be glad to humor you."

You swallow thickly.

And nearly whisper, "What do you do when you make a mistake..and you don't know how to tell someone."

"Did you break one of Karkat's movie discs?"

"No. I'm serious, Rose."

"Hm. Will anyone die or suffer from this mistake?"

"Maybe."

"What do you mean by maybe?"

"It might hurt him."

"There's a him now?"

"Rose,"

"Yes, sorry. Are you perhaps admitting you made a mistake or choice recently that might hurt Karkat physically, or emotionally?"

You already know your answer.

"Emotionally."

"Then this is a classic, 'is it better to keep information that would hurt someone emotionally' or 'tell the truth for the sake of them knowing it' scenario. Dirk would have a field day with this. It's a matter of conscious good on the person committing the mistake, and, of course, whoever else it involves. One person who has the duty to make a choice, and admit their faults, or keep it to themselves for making life easier on others, but overall could be in the wrong for doing so."

"So what's the right answer?"

"The right answer indeed. That's your decision to make, Dave, not mine."

"That doesn't help me."

"Yes it does. I've narrowed your options down considerably: tell Karkat what mistake you’ve made, or don't."

"Well, what would you do in the situation?"

"I'm not in your situation, Dave, and even if I knew it, there's no certainty that my choice would be yours, or that you'd react the same way."

"What if you know it'll hurt him, emotionally, because you did something bad that could ruin the entire relationship."

"Your choices are still the same. Just a little bit different for a reason."

"And those are?"

"Well, if someone you loved told you something they did, something that could end a relationship, I'd imagine it's ending for a good reason."

"Why?"

"Because you don't want yourself suffering in a relationship that hurts you. Mistakes are mistakes, and people can grow past them, but there's always a possibility that you won't be forgiven in a way that you want to be."

"..."

"Is that all, Dave?"

"Yeah. Thanks for advising me."

"It's not advice. It's a choice. And I hope you're happy with whatever choice you make."

"Okay. Take care."

"Love you too, Dave."

And your call ends.

Rose's words tumble thickly in your head. Suffering. Choice. Forgiveness. All of these weigh heavy on you, among your other mistakes, whispering into your head. A choice. She said it was a choice. As if everything in your world weighed in on one of Terezi’s scratch coins. Heads or Scratch, she’d say. Except, you think she wouldn’t use a coin for this. 

You know what you want to do, but you don't know if you have the strength for it.

You go inside, breathing away the conversation and pretending to Karkat that you're better than you truly are.

It's not easy to break it to your boyfriend that you cheated on him.

It takes you four times to succeed.

The first time, the words don't even come out of your mouth. You're in bed, and he's in bed, and neither of you have even done anything yet. You haven't taken that step in your long relationship. You lost your first time to Quezer, and not to Karkat, like you should have. He's covering closer to you, to whisper to you, smiling dopey, and you're trying not to break.

"Do you wanna…?" He asks so carefully. Because he does that. He asks nicely.

You picture hotness, moving above you, making you feel _so nice right there_ , making you feel _like the worst person in the entire world_.

"No," you answer, and hesitate to start the next sentence. _I cheated on you_.

"Okay," he responds understandingly, patiently, loving. The way you hate it. He cuddles close enough to wrap his arm around you, making you feel like an abomination.

The second and third times are almost ridiculous. For one, the second time you almost admitted to him was in a store. Because he asked you what type of noodles you wanted for dinner. And the fact that he looked at you, smiling like you were the world, made you feel such a sickness planted in you. You almost barfed up the noodles when you ate them for dinner. Then, the third time was randomly, in public, you joked about something half-heartedly and he had the gall to laugh. He laughed, in his chuckly, smooth like concrete laugh, and it made you suddenly and intensely hate him. Because that smile should be a frown, a snarl, an I-despise-you that you deserve. You don't deserve his smiles. But he had the idea you do. 

The fourth time you're both sitting on the couch. You're watching a movie, you think. He's eating cereal, chewing, commenting on the story of it. Telling the protagonist off, talking about truths and secrets and asking her why she’d keep something so important from her lover. Watching intently. Your stomach is bubbling with rising anxiety, and every time he moves you flinch. You feel at your absolute worst. 

So you take a breath.

"Hey, Karkat?"

"Hm?"

"I..I cheated on you."

His eyes roam the screen, so lost in it, he didn't even fucking hear your confession as it was.

"That's weird Dave. Was it like talking to them? At least tell me they are hot before you go running for any babe."

You swallow guilt, thickly running down your throat. "No, like, Karkat. I cheated on you."

This time, he stops. And looks over. Doesn't even move to put his spoon down.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Seriously."

"..."

He seems to swallow, and in a smaller voice asks, "You..you cheated on me?"

"Yeah."

"..how?"

And you burst. You look away, explaining going out to get drunk, meeting the guy, a troll, you explain, got a little drunker, one thing led to another that you don't remember, ended up in a bed with him. Making the mistake. Realizing what you had done. Driving home as fast as you could. Coming home to a sleeping Karkat.

Coming home as a cheater.

You don’t say about your multiple visits beforehand. You don’t say how many times you’ve gone. Just the one time. A first, so he doesn’t think you’re more of a monster. 

He doesn't look away from you while you explain. He scours every inch of your face, eyes clear and in pain, and listens. You wish he'd burst out in anger, scream at you, shriek crying. Interrupt you, maybe storm out, maybe hit you. But he doesn't do anything. You try so hard to make sure he doesn’t know it’s not his fault. You try so hard, with words you don’t exactly have, to explain it was just feelings and regrets built up. When you finish, he tears his eyes away, looks down at the ground, and covers his face.

For a long time, neither of you say anything.

"It's not you," you say in a desperate attempt to console him. While you can. "It wasn't your fault. I made this mistake, and I know I can’t really fix it, but it was my mistake only."

".. _why_ _?_ "

It's in such a pained, shattered voice. A voice that hurts and knows too much. A voice that knows the truth.

You rub your arm, summoning an answer. And you just can't find the courage to say an actual reason.

So you say, "I don't know."

And, silently, he starts crying. You can see it. He covers his face again, and you can see him trembling, and you fully turn to witness what you've done to him. It hits you, dully, that you have done this to him. Brought him to tears. He makes silent noises, weeping, shaking, and you feel _horrible_. A sense of disgust with yourself washes over you. How could you do this to him?

Your hand reaches out for his shoulder before you know it, but he looks up and the stance you see is one that you know you will not be able to heal. He looks at you, pained, the saddest thing you have ever seen in your life, and the courage to comfort has suddenly turned into cowardice. You don't deserve to comfort him. You doubt he even wants to look at you right now. You retract your hand, acting like being burnt from a fire. Too hot. Too ashamed. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper, knowing it's not enough. "I'm sorry, Karkat."

Everything he saw in you drains as his tears pool. You don't know if it's the realization, or rather a wish, but you know he sees what you see. That there doesn't seem to be a future together. That something like this, kept secret from him, will never get him to trust you again. Karkat is all about trust, of being bonded, and this, you're sure, just broke the one between the two of you.

He doesn't say anything, which makes you say, "Maybe we can fix this," in a horridly stupid attempt to do so. 

And he just looks at you. Not even with sadness. With something you can't name. 

A sort of blankness. Like he doesn’t see you anymore. Like he doesn’t want to.

And gets up. Quietly. You don't protest it. He runs out of your vision, and for a moment you think he's run away, before he's back in the room with his jacket, struggling to put on shoes. Off the counter, he grabs the keys, and heads toward the door. Nothing else to say to you, which makes your heart struggle to keep up. 

You know he's going to leave. And you also know he won't be coming back.

"Karkat, wait,"

He stops just in the doorway, the door already open. You beg your brain for anything, something, to get him to stay, because suddenly you don't want him to leave. You don't want the one person who would have loved you as you were to leave. It'd mean it's too late. It’d mean what it’d felt like. 

"I love you. It doesn't mean I didn't love you. I do."

He stills, and you can see him think. Deciding. A coin flip, in his mind. Stay with you. Or go. Work it out, or leave. Gain more answers, or lose himself into the reins of the outside world. 

You lose.

He shuts the door quietly behind him.

In the sudden silence, you hear the car start outside. Numb, you listen to it screech away, far away, from you and this house you had hated to come home to. In your attempt to stop yourself from hurting, you hurt Karkat instead. 

And now, he's gone.

You call Rose.

"I told him the truth."

"Good for you. Happy?"

"No. I cheated on him."

"...what?"

* * *

Rose calls you for the next three days. Each once a day, around 3ish. You don't know why she does, or what she wants, but on the fourth day of Karkat being gone you fear being left alone, like you want, and answer her.

"Why haven't you been answering me."

"Well, considering what I told you, I thought I might've been hallucinating and you really did hate me."

"I don't hate you, I'm just disappointed. You need to talk to me."

You get pissed off. "I don't need to do shit. I can stay in this house until everyone forgets I exist."

"Dave, you are not wallowing in that house alone. I want you to come talk to me. You obviously need help."

"I don't need shit."

"I'm going to call Jade."

"To what? Beat me up?"

"Worse. She'll be your personal chauffeur to my house."

"..."

You groan.

"Let me get ready."

"Thirty minutes, Mr. Strider, or I call Jade."

And she hangs up.

Well. At least it's something to do. And a threat. 

You're good at listening to threats.

It takes you twenty minutes to get yourself cleaned, dressed, and on the road. Kanaya and Rose's house isn't far from your own, but it's a bit of a drive. You turn on the radio, to fill the silence, but all that plays is pitiful heartbreak songs that someone who had their heart broken could probably scream to. You change the channel to a quieter station, unnerved. 

You get to Kanaya's and are ushered in before you can object.

"You have explaining to do," Rose says, planting you right on the couch. "Lots."

"The hell else am I supposed to say," you object. "Cheated on my boyfriend while I was out and drunk. Was with a guy troll. Want any more information, detective?"

Then she slaps you. 

It surprises her as much as it does you. Rose doesn't solve problems by abrupt violence. Not until all other solutions are run through. And Rose doesn't _slap_ people.

She finds her ground faster than you.

"Stop pretending it's a game, or a joke, or a fantasy. Stop pretending reality can't affect you. It won't make you heal."

You blink your way into thoughts. "I..I'm not. What makes you think I'm just not accepting it?"

"Because one, you didn't even look for him. Do you know he's been at my house, sobbing for the past days, on my couch? Two, you have been _ignoring_ me. I called for your welfare. It doesn't even look like you've been eating. And three, your jokes are worse than ever. Just horrible. I bet these are signs of depression and something more, if anything is to go by our childhoods."

You blink, again. "You think I'm depressed because I make bad jokes?"

She looks like she's about to end you. "Dave, that's not the point to be focusing on here." And then she sighs.

"So, what is it then?"

She looks at you sympathetically. "I think you need help. More than what I thought. Possibly from a number of things."

"You think me cheating was a cry for help?"

"I think it was a grave mistake from a man who is in need of it. Your cheating was your own choice. But obviously there was something to have caused it. A reason, a belief, a moment caused by peril or weak will. I doubt you're someone who wants to go cheating on every partner."

You feel guilt flooding you, but hard stubbornness too. "I don't need help."

She looks at you strongly. "Yes you do."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do, Dave."

"I don't see how-"

You hear the door open before you see him.

Karkat. Walking through the front door. He stops the moment he spots you.

He looks surprised, and quickly, hurt. You see the event four days ago play in your head.

You wonder briefly what he was doing out.

"Karkat-" you start to say.

He's out the door and slammed it before you've even finished his name.

You stare, a second after him. And then run up to the door.

But it's too late. By the time you open it a car that faintly registers as John's pulls away, away from you, and you also suspect Karkat with it. You run after it a bit, slowing down only with the realization that you won't reach it, and watch it drive away into the distance. You can hear slightly the, "Oh dear," from Kanaya, and quickly, it comes to your mind that Rose said he had been staying here with them. For four days. 

Rose walks up to you, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Recognizing your mistakes is a key part, but forgiveness will only truly matter from one person."

"Who?" You ask solemnly.

"Yourself."

And that's when you start crying.

* * *

She sets you up with everything. Appointments. Therapists. Searching for someone who can _specialize_ in the mess you are. They're all warm, and sympathetic, and you really despise the entire thing. You always thought _help_ is for people who were weak. People who couldn’t survive. And that they didn’t deserve to. 

She says that's how it usually starts. Or, at least, how she felt the first time she tried a talk. She only kept going because of Kanaya's insistence and Roxy's support. It didn't help her exactly feel better, but it gave her a better understanding of it all, and really, as a Seer of Light, it gave her just a tiny bit of relief.

And, obviously, you have Rose's insistence. The form of support came from someone unexpected. 

Dirk.

"I can't begin to imagine what he did to you," he explains, apologizes, like it was ever his fault. It never was. He's not Bro, and you know this. Even though you can find the similarities so easily, you know there are differences where the image of Bro ends and he begins. "Or why. But I bet figuring it out could be a one-up on the alternate bastard I know I could be."

So you go. And, really, it's sort of weird. Just talking to your supposed therapist, just chatting like you're not there for a mix of issues stemming from all over, giving what you like to do and how things are. An image of normalcy, of calm, before a storm arises. Your first session concludes and you're on your way.

But you go back. Because it’s better than the bar, where your mistake is permanent and hanging up like a sign. You go back, sitting in a quiet, thinking only aloud when the therapist asks you to. Really, they’re nice and all, but you don’t know how this is supposed to work, or where to even start, or if you even want to do this. You tell them you don’t really see a good point in this. Telling how you feel. Because if you tell it, then you should already know.

And that’s where you start. Just random nothingness. How you think or feel about things. Any amount of things. They’ll ask you about your drive over, or about your sister, or how you feel about your ‘home’. They ask things, and almost like an idiot, you fall into a bit of a trap of giving too much information that they prod just a little more at you for. Not enough to make you strictly uncomfortable, but enough to make you aware of what they’re doing. Asking about how you feel about this, about that. Moving onto all sorts of things. 

One day they ask you about how you feel being here. You tell them that you’re only here at your sister’s prodding. Then they ask why. You hesitate in explaining. 

“I...I cheated on my boyfriend.”

“Why do you think you did that?”

_Because you didn’t deserve him. Because you hated the way he loved you. Because you hated yourself_.

You shrug.

“You can explain how you feel about it, if you want to, Dave. Here, there’s no judgment for a single thing.”

You open your mouth to speak, but you can’t find the words.

So you reply, “It’s difficult to say.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

And they wait patiently. 

“I..”

You hurt him. Karkat. Who you loved so much.

“He loved me..”

He did. So much. And you ruined everything.

“And that felt like hell.”

Like you didn’t deserve it. And you still believe you don’t. 

And your therapist writes something on their clipboard. Notes. About you. 

“Explain more of that in-depth to me, if you would.”

You swallow. 

Every word is harder to say.

Every word you feel a sense of letting go.

Rose was right. In some way, even though you feel like a rock, you feel like you’re letting go of a thousand balloons that were hoisting you into the atmosphere. 

A thousand worries, a thousand ways you felt you were a failure. 

It’s not perfect. You don’t like seeing them. You hate that some of these strings seem to be wrapped tightly around your arm, coiled perfectly to cut at you. 

You hated the doll.

You hated your Bro.

You hated your childhood.

But it’s the only thing that makes sense. The only place that was solid, real, when everything now just feels too much like a dream come true. The memories that make your breath still remind you that you breathe. The events that make you fear feels like the only indicating sense that you’re alive. The brother you remember, your only companion, the person you spent so much of your life on, for some _fucking_ reason, you miss. You miss that bastard. Whatever fucked up version of love he gave you, you took it, because you were just a kid growing up in his hell-house, clown fuckery of childhood, and just because you hate him, it doesn’t mean you don’t severely miss him too. Despite yourself, you loved him. As much as you realized you hated him. And it tears you apart, it hurts severely, that he put this chunk of himself within you, inside your mind, the voice that echoes so clearly when you hate yourself the most.

It’s him, hating you. You knew he did. You don’t know when, but you always knew he hated you, always, possibly from the moment he got you. The fact that you deluded yourself into thinking that he liked you was just crazy. You think the only reason he kept you was not because he saw potential, but rather, a chance to try out something new. Something like a challenge. Except, he made all the stakes fucked up and twisted the rules to his bidding. It was never about raising a child. It was about _raising_ one at all. And you were the unlucky bastard to have to live in that world, live the way you did to his amusement, left alone and studied and fought, because he could do that, have power over a child, over you, and because he could do it, he did. 

And it makes you come to the realization: do you hate love because it reminds you of him, or hate it for fear it _isn’t_ like he taught it?

It’s the only form you know. Because, the reality is, you don’t know how to actually love anyone properly. Like how it’s told. How it’s explained. How it’s sung or written or acted about. You don’t know what line strikes between what’s wrong, and what’s correct. His teachings blur it all in the middle, make you confused and afraid and doubt yourself, making you unsure of what he was lying about, what you may think is perfectly normal but gets you weird looks from Rose and John and even _Jade_. You don’t know where _reality_ starts and _his world_ ends. 

The talking turns. You start spouting what ideas possibly came forth, all those years on the meteor, what it could have been and what it couldn’t, and the fact that you really just _don’t know_. These ideas, these realizations, these feelings. Parental manipulation. Unknowing how you’d eat or walk in the apartment or when the next strife would be, fearing, paranoid. Knowing any sign of weakness would be a turn for the worst. Hearing him. God, it fucking sucked when he just did normal shit. But when he _talked_ to you.

_Do you deserve love, Dave?_

_Did you earn this?_

_Maybe you need this, I don’t think your skills are sharp enough._

_You should’ve done better, Dave._

_Next time I won’t be so caring._

_The world isn’t this kind, Dave._

_Tsk, tsk, tsk._

_Dave, Dave, Dave._

You felt relief seeing that blade through his chest. His lifeless eyes, blank, the sense that _You can’t do shit, anymore, dead fucker,_ the immense overwhelming grief in comparison, unison, with the feeling of freedom. You don’t know how you managed, at age thirteen, to see his body, not crumble in all the pieces he left you in. You don’t know how you managed not to fall apart. You were thirteen, _thirteen_ , when he died, and it was all you could do not to scream in a feverish victory. Laugh at him. Weep for him. Hate him. Love him.

You don’t know how you keep yourself going alive.

_Well, Karkat, probably_.

Yeah. Probably. And your other friends. 

It was so easy to pretend to be average. Normal. To pretend, among them, that you were fine and didn’t have these thoughts in your head and that nothing in your life had ever gone wrong. 

That it was all normal. 

It was _supposed_ to be normal.

But you, you are not normal.

You know this.

You’re not normal. 

What he did was fucked up, wrong. In an entire sense, you deserved none of it because you were a kid who didn’t know better.

But it feels like now, knowing better, well, it doesn’t make you _feel_ better about it. 

It only makes you feel like it was your fault to begin with. 

“It wasn’t, Dave. None of it. Abuse, different forms of it, including emotional abuse and neglect, can often lead a child to believe that it was fabricated, not as big a deal as it seamed, or as if the child deserved it. But, Dave, I can assure you right now, nothing you ever did in your life ever warranted such treating. Nothing. There is no excuse for your guardian.”

“Even if I cheated?”

“Nothing, Dave,” they tell you. “Nothing will ever justify whatever reason your brother had for raising you the way he did. Not then, not now, not ever.”

“But I..I hurt people close to me. Because of him.”

“How you’re raised in your childhood, and even how you perceive it after, can affect your life in many ways. If you were feeling emotionally unstable, or resentment, possibly just being reminded of it, it’s no wonder why you feel this way. And, I’m not much qualified in relationships, but I do know that the type of people who do cheat often come to regret it, because they too were emotionally susceptible by their life experiences.”

“Are you saying that it’s an excuse?”

“No. I’m giving you the reason. The why.”

And _the why_ , still turns out to be longer than you thought. 

You start to feel drained, in a good way, after sessions. Like you had stopped breathing and started again. Like you were submerged in an ocean, and finally, after a long while, you’ve come back up for air.

You’re still struggling in that ocean. The ocean that beckons you, with his name, his words, your own. It just feels easier to float when you start to sense you’re about to be pulled back under. 

It feels like life is automatic when you’re not in a session. Like you’re viewing it from a window, the world outside, and Dave inside. At least, when recommended to you, you start daily walks and inner searchings. Find something you like, maybe. Something that doesn’t make you feel guilty. Listen to the things that cannot be influenced by a force like a person. The trees, whistling, protecting you from the sky. Sound in the air, lots and lots, from people and animals and things, like how a car sounds against a road, or sneakers sound against grass, or objects set against the windows of shops. The smells like food, the food you can buy, the food you can see. Wait, no, you’re just hungry. As a suggestion, a terrifying one, your therapist suggested listening to your ‘inner child’s’ needs. Are you hungry? Eat. Nourish. You care for that being inside you. Because it is you. Is your inner child sad? Do like any other child would do, and cry. Because a child’s reaction to hurt, to sadness, to the unknown, is to be a child. Is your inner child sleepy? Then it’s time for bed. You find yourself in a donut shop, asking yourself in a very silly, condescending way, _Do you want the chocolate or the vanilla? The sprinkles or the frosting? One or two?_ And, to your dismay, you feel like you could continue actually doing a silly thing like that. 

It’s like another version sits alongside you, kicking his legs back and forth in the chair across from you, enjoying something as good as a donut. That kid you loves sprinkles, secretly, a divine specialty only when Bro wanted to make a mess. It’s like, in some sort of twisted feedback, he appreciates you eating one. For the kid you were. Enjoying it, just for him.

You feel enough courage, one day, to go apologize to Karkat. Because, at the very least, you don’t want to leave this unclosed relationship on the way it had last ended. With him walking away.

You hear about him, going to John’s, and you know where John lives. Your nerves are singing nervousness when you walk to the door, knock on it politely, hoping that he won’t immediately push you away.

You don’t notice when he opens the door, but you notice when he’s standing there, looking at you. He looks..not as bad as he had before. Not as if you were a monster- no, not monster, you’re not a monster Dave, you know this. Just someone who hurt him. He’s wearing a T-shirt too big for him, shorts that look too much like boxers. 

He honestly looks..happier.

“Oh, hey,” You say, trying to keep yourself level and firm. But accepting whatever fate he gives you. “Didn’t notice you opened the door.”

He sort of just stares at you, unblinking, and you wave your hand around a bit to catch his attention. 

“Uh, Karkat? You good, my guy?”

His face contorts into something different.

“I’m not ‘ _your guy'_ ,” He tells you. “Don’t call me that.”

You’re a little shook by his tone, but otherwise, you expected it. “Oh. Okay. Um.”

And you stand there, trying to think of your next sentence. You didn’t plan this out well. You just sort of wanted to apologize, and either be pushed out, or be over with it. You didn’t really _think_ about it too much. 

He looks at you confusingly. “Did you..want something?”

You wonder, briefly, about how much he’s changed. It’s been a good while since you’ve seen him, and he clearly has moved on from whatever your deal was. It makes you feel..nervous. Or out of touch. Not unfair, really. You guess you don’t really know what more you want from this than closure. Or a friend. 

“I,” You rub the back of your head, thinking. “Just...I came by. To. Y’know. Apologize.”

He stares at you blankly. “..apologize.”

“Yeah,” You nod nervously. “If you want to hear it.”

You think, for a moment, that he might turn you away. You can see him thinking about it, like on the day you told him you cheated, and you’re almost about to turn away yourself before he sighs. 

He turns to call inside, “Hey, I’m stepping outside for a minute!” which surprises you, hearing your friend John call back, “Okay! Love you! Don’t incriminate us again!” before he closes the door behind him, motioning for you to back up so he can stand in front of his door. 

“So,” He crosses his arms. “Apology.” 

You take a deep breath. You didn’t prepare much, but you want to get it all out. All clear. Let him know that what you know is wrong. “I..what I did was fucked up. I know that. I know I already told you, but I had so many doubts at the time and it wasn’t because of you, it was just me, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I should’ve just gone to you in the first place. And there’s no excuse for me,” You take a small breath, trying to keep contact with him, trying to let him know through your eyes that you’ve known you’ve done wrong.“I don’t have a good reason that you’ll accept from me. And I know you probably won’t. I don’t know exactly what you’ve been doing since our breakup but..” You look at the door, and wonder if Karkat looks so happy and comfortable because of John. It wouldn’t surprise you. John’s nice. “I think maybe I deserve this. And you definitely deserve better than me.”

You pause, waiting for him, maybe to say anything.

“Yeah,” He affirms. “I do.”

It hurts, the way he says it, but you know to accept it. Because he did.

“I’m sorry, for hurting you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” He nods. It feels like he’s hearing from you for real, something you’ve never done directly before. “I didn’t.”

You continue with your truth. “I feel..I feel like I still don’t want to lose you, though. You were my best friend, and we understood each other. I don't want to lose that with you. I need you, even if we can't be together. I _need_ you, Karkat."

You hope he understands.

You know you can accept if he doesn’t, wanting nothing to do with you. You know you can accept if he doesn’t want this. But, dear fucking lord, you’re fine if he’s moved on and with someone who loves him and if he wants nothing to do with you, but if there’s that chance he still cares, you’ll be fine. He was your best friend. And you hope, in a good future, he’ll remain to be.

"I don't," He says slowly. "You might think you need me, Dave, but I don't think you do. And I don't need you."

You look at the door again, suspicions confirmed. You have a very big feeling John whisked away your boyfriend. If it weren’t for the fact that the way it happened was sad and that Karkat’s talking to you seriously, you’d smile. 

"I miss you too, and I won't push you away. But Dave, the version of _us_ we used to have, that's over. That, to me, is over. There's no going back. And frankly, I don't really want to. We can be friends. But I don't think we'll ever quite reach what we had before."

You heave a sigh of relief. Feeling better. Feeling like you can go forward. "Okay," and, with a pause, you ask him, "Karkat, can I do one last thing though?"

"What?" 

Karkat might not be your boyfriend anymore, and you might’ve not been one for contact, but you try to lean in for a hug.

Because, it seems fitting that you’d end the relationship, but start the second friendship, with something you never used to do. 

But he places his hand on your chest, before you’ve even moved close.

"No," he says firmly. "Not anymore, Dave. You can't do that."

Well, that surprises you. Hurts, just a little bit. "Why?"

And, even though he said it like it was painful, you see another reason in his eyes. Not like he’s looking at you. Like he’s looking through you. Faraway, the Karkat who loved you isn’t quite gone, but is with someone else now. Occupying someone else's world. 

"Because I love John."

Oh. Yeah, that’d make sense. He’s living in John’s house, had driven off with John in his car, and to be fair, if he hadn’t been at Rose’s the entire time you visited and she helped you, he had to be somewhere else. You take a step back to process this clearly. You wonder how it happened. How Karkat found something in John you know he doesn’t see in you anymore. A world of something you couldn’t provide him with, because you were in pain, and dear lord, Karkat wasn’t supposed to be the one to fix it. 

"He'll treat you right," You state. "He's nice. He's kind. He won't hurt you."

Not like you did. John will treat Karkat, hopefully, better than you would have.

"He loves me."

"He loves you." And, with a final note, "Enough."

"Enough to make me happy."

You want to laugh. The adult you, the you who you were a few months ago, wants to cry. But the little kid Dave, the Dave who kicks his feet and likes sprinkled donuts, who you try to take care of better now, wants to laugh. Because, truly, you hope he’s happy. You really do hope Karkat is happy. 

"Hope you're happy,"

And he smiles at you, proudly, and maybe with a love not for you, but someone who will guard it very well. Someone you trust enough to. You’re glad he can make Karkat happy. 

"I am."

You say goodbye, waving shortly to him, turning around before he walks away. Deeply, there is a part of you that is sad. 

But looking even deeper, there’s the kid you, the kid Dave, smiling at adult you, holding his hand as he wipes his tears away, and says, 

_We can be happy, too, you know. It’s not impossible._

And adult Dave wonders when kid Dave learned to be such a grown-up.

* * *

You learn, always, unfortunately, that Rose is almost right every time. It’s an infiltrating accurate ability in how she can just say things, and somehow, end up right. You know she probably cheats with her Seer of Light powers. She knows you probably know about it. It doesn’t stop you from acting pissed off because somehow, against all odds, she wins against you and Vriska in poker. Roxy often ends up patting her on the back like a coach, splitting whatever profits she makes off the games, and you find an annoying sense in the ability that the Lalonde’s know how to get under your skin. Often, with Vriska, you call foul, but Terezi ends up advocating for her, and really, there’s no sense in arguing with Terezi. Really, no logical sense to it at all. 

There’s a strange way you feel about the fact that you hang out with your friends more. Or the fact that they’ve forgiven you for the actions you’ve done, if not to them, but to someone they’re friends with too. Forgiveness tastes odd, really, like a metal that’s not quite copper but just as sharp, or water that wasn’t expected to feel as cold as it was. It’s not easy to forgive the thoughts you give yourself, or what they do to you or make you feel, but there’s always that little kid you, making you breathe reality in, understanding that things become difficult sometimes. Because, truthfully, there are moments where you think you don’t deserve it. But your therapist told you that you should probably give up that word. _Deserve_. People don't tell nature that they _deserve_ its beauty, or that the body doesn’t tell a mind it _deserves_ food when hungry. It’s just a thing that happens. And food is something the body needs, as a beautiful sight is something the eyes consume, and just like this, you need to know your emotions, so that you may have the ability to forgive yourself when you think you don’t “deserve” to be forgiven. A need. It is a need. Like taking a shit to get all the bad stuff out. Your therapist gave you a look when you said that, but really, you could tell they were trying not to laugh. 

The sense that maybe you can make it on your own follows you. You trail after your friends, of course, because you dislike being alone with your thoughts and you know it’s better to be around someone than alone with them. When you feel really bad, you go to a session, and then maybe talk to Rose a bit, and while it doesn’t _solve_ your feelings, it makes you feel more sure about why they hurt you, and how you can fight against them. Even though you are responsible for your feelings, and you try your best to take them down, it helps that your sister, or sister-in-law, or your friends come in every once in a while to fight alongside you. It doesn’t feel over yet, not by a long shot, but you think you’re starting to win the war overall. You wake up thinking about how to get stronger every day. 

It’s surprising, one day, when you see him. Them. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you know longer than a good while. John’s sporting a stubble that makes you want to laugh. Honestly, you don’t know when the last time you talked to John is. You doubt he’d hate you, because John’s like that, but you doubt it wouldn’t be awkward. Still, you knew John longer than Karkat. He was a best friend first. That makes you think it should count for something.

He doesn’t notice you at first, mostly because you’re a bit a ways away and you’re not really going his way. You’re walking towards somewhere, because Roxy wants you to get something so she can surprise Jane, and damn you if you say no to those eyes. She’s like an evil, more emotional Rose. But when he does turn your way, really, you don’t see much of anything more in his eyes than a small warmth.

It’s a first step, really, towards anything. You give a small smile, hopeful, and wave.

He waves back, sheepishly hesitant smiling, before turning back to John. 

John, the doofus he is, catches your eye, looks back between you and Karkat, and is immediately caught within the friend dilemma. 

Does he wave to his long term best friend but also his boyfriend's ex, or does he not for the sake of his boyfriend, who also happened to be his best friend before he started dating him?

Loyalty wins out and he enthusiastically waves at you, prodded and encouraged by Karkat. You chuckle into your hand. 

As you turn away and continue walking, you think about all the mistakes you’ve made. Regrets that occurred, mainly on your part, and how you could’ve done better. You think you might always tug them around, might always have them, and they may stay with you for the rest of forever. 

But you also think ahead. Somewhere, in the future, you’re going to make yourself proud. Of what, you don’t know yet. But you know it’ll be something. And, well, maybe you’re already a little proud of yourself already. The one step today, the hundreds of more tomorrow. 

You listen to the world around you, ready to wait for you as long as you want it to, walking forward knowing things only you could possibly understand. 

Step by step, you’ll be there.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make a few things clear: I had to research (google) a lot of what wasn't straight up there, or I needed in order to add to the story (like the therapy sessions and coping mechanisms) because while I've had some personal insight on these issues, I've never experienced most of it personally. If you find that it's a little lackluster or off in those areas, that's because I had to look into it. So, apologies for the uncertain parts!!
> 
> Getting back onto the real commentary, I have so much fun writing this view! I had fun writing and tearing into Dave's mind, his view, the influence of his life and how it reflects his current one. Honestly, I did feel absolutely dirty writing Dave as 'the cheater' in my Johnkat story, but once I found reason behind it, it just became an entire thing about how you can work through your mistakes (even ones like these) and still end up as a better person for it. I wasn't aiming towards writing a story as Dave the antagonist; I was aiming for the double perspective of one story, how Karkat and Dave both handled this and what they ended up doing. Of course, realistically, there isn't always some deep hidden meaning for cheating, and I obviously do not condone it at all in real life. But I can certainly sympathize with a Dave who ended up making mistakes in his life, and personally went to go work on it. And he didn't have to do it alone either; support from the friends and family he tried so hard to avoid was what did help him in the end. Of course, that won't always help, but in this case I just cannot unsee the possibility that his friends and family WOULDN'T help him. 
> 
> Overall writing these made me fall in love with the process. It was the most fun and (nearly) the most I had written for a story in a while!! I hope you enjoyed reading, and if you have any comments or questions, feel free to ask them for me to clarify!!


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